His heavy boots sunk into the mud, cracking what dredge that had merely begun to dry. Men shouted and worked all about him as the leftenant made his way through the camp. A few of the lads hauling a great log before him giving their apologies to him as one of their commanders. He merely nodded his acceptance and let them continue with their labor until the passage was free. It took him less than another minute to make it to Sister Margaret's tent. 

Branimir knew he was one of the few men Margeret didn't mind intruding, for unless a soldier was sick or she had saved his life and gained his respect, the comely woman often received a myriad of leers and unwelcome looks by some of the less honorable men. Branimir might be a disgraced Knight, but a Knight he was. He stopped at the flap of her large medical pavilion, announcing his arrival. "Sister Margeret?" he called, his strong voice would be easily recognizable. 

He heard a small curse, and blinked, striding in to see the woman failing at sewing, a small bead of blood on her thumb. He gritted his teeth in embarrassment, not knowing if him calling out was what distracted her. "Um, Sister Margeret." Branimir began, clearing his throat and squaring his broad shoulders. "Forgive me for intruding, but...there is the matter of our Captain's body and the rights he'll need before the burial." 
[@Hero]